


America is on the wrong side of heaven and the righteous side of hell.

by Manic759



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America, Hetalia, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:52:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6222628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manic759/pseuds/Manic759
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a battle does not go in his favour, America is unable to deal with the situation well. The fall of his people and being the one to see the aftermath of the bloodshed shatters him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	America is on the wrong side of heaven and the righteous side of hell.

**Author's Note:**

> okay this is the first story I have ever written and it was a heat of the movement kind of thing so yea XD. Song lyrics are in italics and the song is 'Wrong side of heaven ' by five finger death lunch. I do not own the charcter America (Hetalia) or the song.

War is a hell. 

  
That is the obvious statement, you lose countless lives fighting for a purpose whether you believe in it or not. In the end there is always suffering and there is nothing anyone can do to stop it. For the countries however, it always had the greatest impact as they believe they are the ones that have caused their people to suffer and what makes this worse is the fact they see every life lost as a personal hit. They believe they themselves have killed their own people who they swore to protect.

One country that can be looked upon is the young Alfred Jones commonly known as America. Though he is obnoxious and seems like an idiot, in war situations he takes these losses more personally than the rest. The self proclaimed hero would be seen smiling or making plans to prove he knows what he is doing and to keep up morale but in reality he is dying on the inside, he knows that many of his people are going to die and those who live will have to live with the horrid memories of the battlefront. 

It was on one night in particular that he failed to maintain his stance. He stood on the remaining ground of what was left from the battle, bodies and blood surrounded him. There seemed to be no survivors amongst the fallen bodies. All the young American could do was stare at his fallen people and try and remain on his feet. After he got over his shock all he could do was scream. Scream to the heavens , demanding to know why did they let this happen but in reality he knew he was not going to get a reply as he knew... he was to blame.

_' I spoke to God today, and she said that she's ashamed._

_What have I become, what have I done?_

_I spoke to the Devil today, and he swears he's not to blame._

_And I understood, cause I feel the same.'_

  
His strong hero image had crumbled down like an eroded cliff. As he looked around he came to terms that he was in fact alone amongst the dead. He knew he could have done more. He felt if he made more of an effort he would have been able to have seen this situation coming, he knew that if he tried harder he wouldn't have ended up fighting in this fruitless war. His people were suffering for his actions and at this moment in time he knew he had lost everything. He had lost his people, his allies and slowly but surely his mind.

 ' _Arms wide open, I stand alone._

_I'm no hero, and I'm not made of stone._

_Right or wrong, I can hardly tell._

_I'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell._

_The wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side, righteous side of hell.'_

  
Alfred finally managed to gain enough of his thoughts to walk around, he couldn't stand the sight or stench that was swarmed around his feet. He finally came to a clear patch of land and he collapsed to the ground near a small pool of water. He started to splash his hands to clear off the blood that had turned them red, but no matter how much he scrubbed and scrapped the blood would not disappear because as we know you cannot wash away the images that our mind makes us see. He hid his hands from his line of sight and chose to stare at the small amount of water in front of him.

Oh how foolish he was. The reflection that stared intently back at him was not the man people saw him to be. This reflection was one of the devil himself, bright blue eyes had faded to dull circles that was hard to focus on due to the puffiness that surrounded them, immaculate blonde hair was now sicking out in all angles and had become darker from the combination of blood and mud from the battle and the last feature his smile... that smile that light up the room had diminished and has fallen with his people. As he turned away from the reflection all he could muster to say was ' what have I done?'. After what seemed like hours he stood up and slowly made his way back to his camp taking a longer root to avoid the sight of the massacrer that taken place not so long ago.

_'I heard from God today, and she sounded just like me._

_What have I done, and who have I become._

_I saw the Devil today, and he looked a lot like me._

_I looked away, I turned away!_

_Arms wide open, I stand alone._

_I'm no hero, and I'm not made of stone._

_Right or wrong, I can hardly tell._

_I'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell._

_The wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side, the righteous side of hell. '_

So many questions he had to face, so many people he had to look in the eye and tell them what had happened and try to convince not only them but himself that he is not to blame and they will not lose any more people. America, one of the strongest countries of the world was falling. He was falling further and further into a pit of grief and terror he knew he would not be able to dig himself back out again. He knew he was failing to defend his country and his people and he knew it was only a matter of time he would fail to defend himself. He knew that in this war he would fade out but what him the most angry about was not just the fact he caused so much suffering but those lives will not be taken as much as a loss as his life. A country falling is seen to be a greater loss than those who died trying to protect it. With each bomb that set the land up in flames caused his spirit to turn to ash, each bullet cause more marks and pain to his body and with each cry slowly ate away at his sanity.  

_' I'm not defending, downward descending,_

_Falling further and further away!_

_Getting closer every day!_

_I'm getting closer every day, to the end._

_To the end, the end, the end,_

_I'm getting closer every day!'_  

And yet despite this, despite the pain, the hurt and loss... he powered on. He needed to, he couldn't simply fire a piece of metal into his head, no he had to carry on for the sake of those who were still alive and he would do so until his final breath.  He may be considered a murderer, a psychopath, an ignorant bastard that started a war that was impossible to win and he may have become the devil along the way.

But that is what a country and a man is supposed to do. Fight for what they believe in for the good of the future and for their country. Flags may burn, buildings will fall and crumble along with its people. Tears will be shed like the blood that will be spilled.  
He may not be considered an angel but that was what he had to sacrifice in order to survive.

' _Arms wide open, I stand alone._

_I'm no hero, and I'm not made of stone._

_Right or wrong, I can hardly tell._

_I'm on the wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell._

_The wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side of hell._

_The wrong side of heaven, and the righteous side, the righteous side of hell.'_


End file.
